Belmont

No matter how early we arrived for work, or how late we left, someone was always there before and after us.  The ladies who cooked breakfast were there before the earliest waitresses, who sometimes arrived when it was still as dark as the middle of the night.  But even they were never the first, since the general manager and a caretaker both lived in houses on the property, within sight of the main house.  In the evenings, the chef always (depending on the chef), stayed until all the wait staff had gone home.  It was the house man who stayed the latest, turning out all of the downstairs lights and locking the doors.

Sometimes, the wait and kitchen staff would be having such a good time with each other that we would sit around in the staff room or outside the back door for awhile after our work was finished.  When the office was located in the main house near the front door, sometimes we would stay to chat with the house man and drink 'leftover wine.'  It was often during these late-night sessions that strange stories would be told, and sometimes, when unusual things would happen, between the front door and the back of the service wing.  In the dining room, especially, things would move.  Silverware, glasses, even food from the tables would slide, fall, disappear or become airborne, usually when there was no one nearby who could possibly be responsible.  Sometimes the strange and unusual events, while eerie, would have a perfectly earthly origin--- like the eerie screaming from the direction of the cemetery, which only meant that a deer had gotten stuck in the fence.  Surrounded by acres and acres of rolling fields, themselves bordered by miles of woodland belonging to the State of Maryland, the spot is an island of quiet, undisturbed nature that often seems outside of the reach of time.

Clover Hill

A 1772 house that sat abandoned, just over the hill from my house, the entire time I was growing up.  I never knew it was there.

PFI May 7, 2011

Kennedy Farmhouse

April 2009

I made a trip out to Frostburg last Thursday for a visit with my daughter, and took advantage of the fact that I was traveling alone by making some fun side trips on the way back. My primary goal was to find the Kennedy Farmhouse, the secluded farmhouse in the shadow of South Mountain, south of Sharpsburg and north of Sandy Hook, where John Brown hid out, stockpiled weapons, and planned his raid on Harper's Ferry during the summer and early fall of 1859. Many winding roads and brown signs later, I finally came upon the historical marker which pointed me to the back of a clearing beside the road where, behind a chain link fence (and, unfortunately, a locked gate) stood the surprisingly small farmhouse. It is hard to believe that at one time during those exciting, secretive months in the life of this building, up to 21 people were hidden in the attic and could only emerge quietly in the dark of night to help unload shipments of arms and equipment and to make plans.



Since I was in the area, I decided to visit Crampton's Gap, the only one of the three 'gaps' involved in the Battle of South Mountain that I had not yet visited. After the war, a large portion of the battlefield at Crampton's Gap was purchased by George Alfred Townsend, a sometime journalist and author of the strange novels Katy of Catoctin and The Entailed Hat, who dubbed himself  "Gath." He covered his part of the mountain with buildings and other structures, including the War Correspondents Arch, which is dedicated to the artists and journalists who were active during the Civil War.


This is the arch as seen from the road coming up from Burkittsville.


A terra-cotta horse's head

Gath has been criticized for having an inflated ego, for obscuring the significance of the battlefield by overlaying it with the many constructions (monuments to himself?) on his estate, and also for leaving off the names of many who should have been named on the Arch, and including many who should not have been. Here is an article on the subject by a Burkittsville writer.

When I arrived at Crampton's Gap last Thursday, it had become overcast and was just beginning to rain. It was a warm day, and the wonderful smell of ozone was in the air. It was late in the afternoon, close to 5:00, and the park office was closed. I was the only person in sight, except for the occasional passing car. It was perfectly quiet except for the sound of the rain and the birds. The mountain pass smelled of 'clean woods.'


Forsythia and wild rhododendron at Crampton's Gap.

If it had been earlier in the day, I would have taken a walk along the ridge on the Appalachian Trail which passes right through the Gap, just behind Gath's mausoleum. Most of the buildings Gath constructed are now gone, some with only the foundations remaining. The strangest is definitely the mausoleum he built for himself, which he never occupied after death...by that time, his fortunes had changed, and for some reason he was buried in a cemetery in Philadelphia instead.


Gath's mausoleum and a nearby stone arch.


Gath's epitaph.


This is part of a strange, roofless enclosure, the size of a small house, with two openings to walk through. It's near the mausoleum, and nobody knows what he built it for. I just think he liked building drystone walls....it is pretty impressive!

On the way back down the mountain, heading west in the path of the Confederate retreat, I passed a huge old stone farmhouse with a very busy dog running around nearby. I stopped and he posed for a picture. I think he is one of the many 'black dogs' who have guarded the passes on South Mountain as long as anyone can remember. Fantastic, magical, and terrifying qualities are reported of these dogs, who go by the collective name of the "Snarly Yow." Whether they are related, all aspects of the same being, or whether they carry the spirits of long-standing guardians of this special place will, for now, remain a mystery.



Before I left for home, I made a quick drive up to Fox's Gap to check my favorite mirror at the site of the Wise Farm. This spot, too, was quiet and deserted, and I took a few more pictures. Maybe next time I'm up there I can pick some apples again...they were small and a little buggy but they made good applesauce :-D

Margaret Hopkins Fitzgerald and the Burning of Hampton

(April 19, 2010)

Today a friend remarked that it saddens him to see boxes of old photos in an antique or thrift store, knowing that the descendants of the people in the photos either no longer have an interest in them, or perhaps don't even know who they were. Names and dates are one kind of knowledge.....but stories are another. I have collected so many names, dates, and locations while learning the history of my family, and I am consumed by curiosity about what they did...what happened to them...what were the big events in their lives? ---as well as small clues about their personality traits. I want to learn things about them and write them down, so these stories and details aren't lost forever just because nobody remembers them. I will never know exactly what these people were like, but I can put together clues from the places and times they lived in and what details I can find. This is an exciting process.

So, last Friday when on a bored and idle whim I decided to search for historical documents about Thomas Fitzgerald (a great-great grandfather whose parentage I hadn't figured out yet), imagine my surprise when I found an article entitled "A Short History of Bascom's Chapel, Eastern Shore Methodism During the Civil War, and the Hopkins/FitzGerald Family Connection." I know. It sounds pretty boring. I'm not at all fascinated by church history, and although I am interested in the Civil War, I didn't think much of anything happened on the Eastern Shore, and it looks like it didn't......other than Federal troops taking over church buildings for barracks, and similar things. No, the exciting part was "the Hopkins/FitzGerald Family Connection", and while I'm not terribly interested in their religious affiliations and loyalties, this article contained an exciting passage about Margaret Hopkins Fitzgerald, Thomas' wife and my grandfather's great-grandmother:

"It was during the winter, late 1861 or early 1862, while the Yankee troops used the churches and schools in Onancock as barracks and set up tent encampments on private property throughout the town, that Margaret Anne Hopkins FitzGerald, an early war widow, slipped through the blockade and arrived with her seven children to live in Onancock. Her eldest son, Nehemiah, was serving with the 2nd Company of Richmond Howitzers. Her brother, John P.L. Hopkins, had sent a schooner to bring her home from wherever she had fled when Hampton, Virginia was burned to the ground (in August, 1861.) She had resided there in Elizabeth City County since her marriage on Christmas Day, 1837 in Onancock.

"With her husband dead, her home burned, and no means of support, Margaret moved to a house provided by her father, Stephen A. Hopkins, who most likely also provided financial support. She took in sewing to add a few pennies to her meager funds. Just a few steps away from her front door at 25 King Street, today known as the Fitzgerald House, was a church building---Bascom's Chapel."

........ I found another article today which stated that Stephen Hopkins (Margaret's father) was one of two men 'authorized' to run ships out of Onancock past the blockade, which must explain why her brother could go and fetch her from Hampton

Bascom's Chapel was formed in the 1840s, when the Methodist Church split over the question of ownership of slaves. Bascom's was the 'pro-slavery' church, from what I can determine. The article goes on to talk about Margaret's involvement and dispute with the chapel in later years.

I did learn several new things in this article--- First of all, that because Margaret is referred to as an "early war widow," Thomas E. Fitzgerald's death (which I have recorded as occuring in 1863, but according to this article he was dead by the beginning of 1862) had something to do with the war, whether he was a soldier or got caught up in the action as a citizen. I'm wondering if it had to do with the occupation or the burning of Hampton. Also, I learned the identity of the Fitzgerald (Nehemiah) who served in the Confederate Army. My dad had told me only that it was 'one of the boys.' After the war, Nehemiah went to California, where he worked as a teacher. He must have had an interesting life. During the course of my bored and idle searching on Friday, I also found the probable parents of Thomas Fitzgerald....wouldn't you know, he is descended from the Onancock Chandlers, into whose family his daughter would then marry. His grandson was Carson Fitzgerald Chandler, the first of three men to have that name. The youngest is my father.

The photo below shows the first Carson Fitzgerald Chandler, Margaret and Thomas' grandson, with his wife Edith Augusta "Gussie" Walsh Chandler and my grandfather, Carson F. Chandler Jr., as a baby. It was taken in about 1915 in Virginia.

The Background of a Lost Family Story

From the Richmond Times Dispatch, August 9, 1861:

The town of Hampton Burnt by the Hessians.
Norfolk. Aug. 8

A large fire was discovered last night about 1 o'clock in the immediate location of Hampton. It continued its flames until about 3 o'clock this morning. The impression here is, that the Federals have burned Hampton. Several prominent houses there were recognized by some of our citizens to have been in flames. From an elevated position, and with the use of glasses, they seem confident that Hampton is in ashes, and the further inference is that the Federals have evacuated that place.
[Second Dispatch]
Norfolk, August 8 1 o'clock P. M. --Burning of Hampton has been confirmed by the statements of several officers who have just reached here from Craney Island. Dense smoke continues to ascend, and the opinion is that the burning still continues.
The flames last night were intense, and the reflection of them on our steeples was plainly visible, although Hampton is about sixteen miles from Norfolk.


The burning of Hampton.
The news of this last crowning act of barbarity seems to be confirmed. The quiet, unoffending old village, which even the British spared in the late war, has been converted into a heap of ashes by the Black Republican invaders. A more wanton, unprovoked and infernal piece of pure diabolism was never committed.

In this life of mysteries, the heart of man clings with fond tenacity to all that has an appearance of permanence and certainly, and therefore about the homestead which he was born in, where he has felt a mother's love and a father's care, where he has played with brothers and sisters, and indulged all the sweetest dreams, joys, hopes, affections and aspirations of humanity, his heart clings as to an anchor that holds it steady and yet buoyant amid all the fluctuations of human affairs. Around the native house every tendril of his heart is entwined, mantling it as the green vine does the wall, and making the dull, inanimate materials fragrant and beautiful. When the dear old homestead is gone, it is an affliction second only to the loss of those whose presence and love have made it dear. And all this the families of Hampton have lost. They were first driven from those homes which they were not able even to defend, and then, after those homes had failed without resistance into the hands of the enemy, who had occupied them at their pleasure, they deliberately, without provocation, gave the town to the flames, an outrage which our British foemen in the war of 1812, even amidst the excitement of actual battle, refrained from perpetrating.

A more exemplary, refined and intelligent community than that of Hampton, was not to be found in Virginia. The cherished virtues of the State, its hospitality, its courtesy, its frankness, its kindness to strangers, shone there with peculiar lustre. And it is such a people who have received such treatment!--Surely, if a just God reigns in Heaven, such crimes as these will not remain unavenged.

Outrages at Hampton.

--The following, from the Fortress Monroe correspondence of the New York Herald, gives further information of the outrages committed by the Hessians at Hampton, previous to burning the town:
‘ The exodus of negroes from Hampton continued all day yesterday, and from the appearance that that unfortunate village presents, very little of value has been left there by these sable itinerants and by the soldiers, who have, I regret to say, committed not a few excesses and acts of violence. They have wantonly destroyed many articles of no earthly use to them, and taken off many others that they have found in the deserted houses that can be of no service to them. The spirit of mischief that sometimes seizes upon men is something that I cannot account for, and one cannot but feel indignant and outraged when he witnesses the ruin that marks the presence of some men. These outrages call for some more stringent-regulations upon the part of the authorities here, if we do not wish to be truly characterized as robbers and vandals. I hope I may never witness other such scenes as it has been my lot to see to-day. Hampton village is now a perfect picture of utter desolation. Even the negroes that in a degree enlivened it when we first occupied it, are fled inside our lines, and there is not a living thing to be seen in all its high ways and by-ways. Take out the straggling soldiers you now and then meet, and Hampton will equal in mournful desolation the buried cities of Italy, could the lava, which has for so many ages buried them from the eye of man, be instantly removed and they allowed to stand in all their beauty before us. The houses are closed, and nothing obstructs the sight on looking up either main avenue by the well built redoubts so recently deserted. Every pig, chicken, horse, cow or other domestic animal has been carried off.
As there are no troops in the village to hold it, and no patrols or scouts beyond it, it is liable at any moment to be scoured by the rebel horsemen, and, if they wish, occupied by them. It is a little too dangerous amusement to linger long through the lonely streets of that village, lost the curious visitor be picked up by one of the Dinwiddie dragoons or some other mounted Virginian — whose acquaintance it would not be pleasant to form. We have taken the precaution to remove about thirty or forty feet of planking on the enemy's side of the bridge, and we now await their movements with confidence in the result, if they should deem it best to make an attack.

Insult to Heaven.

--We see it stated that the heathenish concern, called the Rump Congress, have passed a resolution for the appointment of a committee to request the President to appoint a day of fasting, humiliation and prayer.
A more blasphemous proceeding than this could not well be imagined. It assumes that a just and holy God, who "is of too pure eyes to behold iniquity," and who has declared that he "will by no means clear the guilty." would accept those infinitely false and foul offerings of infinitely depraved and wicked hearts, wrung from the trembling wretches in the hour of their consternation, and accompanied by no remorse or penitences whatever for the monstrous crimes which they have perpetrated.--The idea that Lincoln, with his soul stained with the blood of the hecatombs who were slaughtered at Bethel, Bull Run and Manassas,--with hands red with the murder of those victims of his ruthless lust of power --that He should appoint a day for the observance of such a solemn ceremony as that of "fasting. humiliation and prayer," is impious beyond the power of language to express. That ceremony, if it were to be observed by the authors and prosecutors of this war, would be a gross insult to the A mighty, for it would be an avocation for His assistance in a work instigated only by the devil. To assume or suppose that the "Judge of all the Earth" could be moved by such an appeal from such diabolical wretches to "let the light of (His) countenance shine upon" them, is about one of the most outrageous profanations which human wickedness could prompt. Petersburg Express.
All articles from the following source: http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/ ; The Daily Dispatch: August 9, 1861. Richmond Dispatch. 4 pages. by Cowardin & Hammersley. Richmond. August 9, 1861. microfilm. Ann Arbor, Mi : Proquest. 1 microfilm reel ; 35 mm.

Caves and Goats at Harpers Ferry

This small cave is located in the hillside above Potomac Street and below High Street in Harpers Ferry, West Virginia-- a beautiful, sleepy old town at the junction of the Potomac and Shenandoah Rivers. Centuries of peace and quiet have enveloped the town, with the exception of the years before and during the Civil War, when it was the scene of John Brown's attempted takeover of the U.S. Armory and the object of constant contention between the Federal and Confederate Armies.

The photo above is a reminder of two of Harpers Ferry's more eccentric residents. The cave, I am told, is Dr. Brown's Cave, or at least that is the name by which it is currently known. There are stories of a cave located in or near town, yet the identity of which "Brown" used the cave, or if either of the "Browns" actually used this particular cave, remain unclear. "It is said" that there's a cave at Harpers Ferry that John Brown used. Local lore recorded in the papers of Grant Conway tell of a cave near the B&O Railroad tracks where slaves met and plotted to assist John Brown in his insurrection. This cave was said to have had a passage which ended at the basement of the Harper House. A Union soldier named Edward Schilling wrote a letter to his family in March of 1863 where he described a cave found by him and a group of friends while they were foraging for boards. He described long passages and large caverns, some containing water, as well as signs that someone had used the cave before them.

There was an earlier Brown, however, who may have used this cave first and given it its name. In the first decade of the nineteenth century, a former surgeon in the American Revolutionary Army, a native of Scotland, took up residence in Harpers Ferry. This Dr. Brown was a bachelor and was well enough off that he could afford to be eccentric and risk the disapproval of local society. One of the manifestations of his uniqueness was his great love of dogs and cats. It is said that in his strolls through this tiny town, Dr. Brown was sometimes accompanied by as many as 50 dogs. He used, as his storehouse and pharmacy, "a cave, partly natural and partly artificial." Dr. Brown's residence was on the south side of High Street, just above the cave in the photo above. When I looked into this cave, it appeared to be just a small chamber. Could there have been a passage in a corner that I overlooked, which may have led to more openings and passageways beneath the town? Maybe the natural portions of the cave have been closed off....or maybe they just remain hidden from the casual visitor. Then again, maybe this little chamber is just a conveniently visible feature useful for ghost tours and historical interpretations, something accessible that can be attached to the colorful legends of this town.

The most interesting thing about the cave I found to be the painting of a goat on the rear wall, facing the entrance. This made more sense, however, when I later came upon the story of a man who, shortly after the Civil War, lived across the Potomac River from Harpers Ferry and kept a herd of goats. Some of these goats got into the habit of climbing the steep cliffs of Maryland Heights, and became more and more wild as the years went on. In 1890, the herd was thought to number about a hundred, and goats could clearly be seen on most days by people on the train platform at Harpers Ferry, scrambling among the rocks in the inaccessible areas of the Heights above the river. The rocky hillside on which the feral goats loved to roam faced the opening of my goat cave, on the opposite side of the Potomac River. The goats remained and in 1980, there were still 28 wild goats roaming the cliffs. At one point following this, residents began to notice the absence of the once familiar goats, and still no one knows what happened to them. Harpers Ferry Park historian Kevin Frye has a theory, though....He believes that one cold winter night, the goats took shelter in the railroad tunnel and were killed by a freight train.

~~~

View of Maryland Heights and the railroad tunnel from the hillside near the Catholic Church in Harpers Ferry

Belmont Old Pic

Above:  The back of the house in 1917.

Happy Halloween!

Photos taken on Friday night at an undisclosed location in my hometown in Howard County, Maryland.

Photos from my birthday ride (mostly)...

Dover Road, Talbot County, Maryland~

Kent County~near Coleman~

An old house on Dover Neck Road, Talbot County~

Dover Bridge; looking from the Caroline County side to the Talbot side~

'A Big Thing' - The Red Path, Part 2

The following is a part of a second article by Richard Holland on his blog, Uncanny UK. On the same night that he spoke to the two ladies who met something strange on the Red Path, he also interviewed Malcolm Jones, another resident of Brymbo who encountered something just as strange many years previously.

"In the summer of 1971 Malcolm was walking home from visiting his girlfriend's house in the neighbouring village of Minera. The time was about 9 o'clock and it was twilight. As he walked up a lane which led into Brymbo, the silhouette of 'a big thing' emerged from the hedge on his right-hand side.

'At first I thought it might be a cow,' said Malcolm, 'but it wasn't. It was the wrong shape: too tall with long, thin legs. It had a similar silhouette to our lurcher dog when you see it running along the beach. But it was a bigger animal: not as big as a cow, perhaps, but certainly bigger than a dog. It had shaggy hair. It didn't make a sound, just stopped in the middle of the road and seemed to stare at me, although I couldn't see its eyes. Then it lost interest and carried on walking across the lane, where it disappeared into the vegetation on the other side.

'That's what made it so spooky. Apart from looking weird, it didn't behave like an ordinary animal. The way it looked at me, as if it was weighing me up. It wasn't fazed by a human presence and most animals are. I remember I just stood in the road for a fair while after it was gone, a little afraid to carry on walking. I'm not saying it was anything supernatural; I don't really believe in that sort of thing. But it was very strange. That's why I've never forgotten it. Just talking about it now, I can feel my hairs pricking up.'

In the daylight, Malcolm examined the scene and found no gates or openings in the hedges bordering the lane, nor are there any today. There is a steep bank on the side from which the animal emerged but Malcolm says that the way it walked into the road didn't suggest it had walked down a bank -- but as if it had walked straight out of the bank. The present author has examined this bank and it appears to be of industrial origin (Brymbo had an important steel works until recently), but it would be interesting if it did, in fact, turn out to have some antiquity, for the mysterious Black Dogs of British folklore are often reported as haunting prehistoric earthworks. Malcolm's 'beast' certainly resembled the Black Dogs, or Gwyllgi as they are known in Wales: it appeared at twilight haunting a lonely lane, it was the right size (they are commonly recorded as being 'the size of a calf') and it had shaggy hair (unlike the apparition seen in the village in the 1980s.)"

Holland goes on to say that there is not necessarily a connection between this spook and the creature seen in the village in the 1980s, and that in the 1920s, an archaeologist saw something on a bright, moonlit night in Pembrokeshire (the opposite corner of Wales from Brymbo) which bore a striking resemblance to both creatures: it was large and black, about the size of a St. Bernard dog, but with a head and forequarters more like that of a goat's or calf's, with short horns.

Source: www.uncannyuk.com/2008/05/04 copyright Richard Holland 2008

For something unrelated, here's a picture I took on my way home from work this evening. We are having very cool (not temperature, the other kind) weather....warm and windy with scary gray clouds and the slight smell of saltwater blowing in from the Bay. Ahh....the thin time of year when the days are getting shorter and things are dying and there is cold, bleak winter looming on the horizon! No wonder we think about monsters and spirits of the dead...so many reminders of ancient and primal fears. Today really does seem pretty "thin".....maybe there's more to this photo than meets the eye....

The Red Path - Part One

The following is one of the strangest stories of "the creepy" that I have ever heard. Although the geographical area of the events has been inhabited by humans for 3000 years, the accounts of this 'creature' that I've been able to find only date back to the early 1970s.

The border between Wales and England is traditionally an area that has been full of contrasts and conflict. It is not surprising, to me anyway, that it is also very rich in folklore and tales of the weird.

Here is the account of 'The Beast of Brymbo' as related by Richard Holland, the editor of the website Uncanny UK:

"Twenty years ago a friend, Wendi Clough, told me a very strange story. The child of a young mum she knew had come home in tears one afternoon after being frightened by what he described as ‘a cow standing up like a person with smoke coming out of its nose’. He and his little friend had both seen this fiendish shape and had run home in terror.

Childish imagination? A trick played on two small children? Something like that, I thought - but the eerie image of this ‘cow’ on its hind legs stayed in my memory. There was something so medieval about it, so devilish. Unfortunately, Wendi had lost touch with the informant and because she had heard the story a year or two previously, she couldn’t remember where exactly it was supposed to have taken place. All she could tell me was that it was ‘somewhere near Wrexham [in North-East Wales] and that it was on a path that goes up a hill in the middle of the village and acts as a short cut’.

Come forward two decades and I happen to mention this odd anecdote to another friend, Jonathan Edwards, who now lives in Gresford between Wrexham and Chester. ‘That sounds like Brymbo,’ he told me. ‘The village is split into two levels, with a big sandstone outcrop dividing them. There’s a path called the Red Path which goes up it.’

Jonathan was brought up in Brymbo and knows the village well, but had never heard of it being haunted by such a spectre. His mother, however, had heard something about it. When Jonathan mentioned it to her, she recalled that two women she knew had spoken of encountering something very similar.

And this is how I met Mrs J and Mrs S (both names on record). Their brush with what I can’t help but call The Beast of Brymbo took place one bright, moonlit night in December, 1985. They were both happy to admit that they had had a few drinks before the sighting, since they had been walking home after a jolly night out at the Miner’s Arms. However, there was no doubting their conviction; indeed, Mrs S became suddenly a bit tearful when she remembered how frightened she had been. Genuine encounters with the Very Strange can have that effect, as I know myself. Ms J told the story, with occasional corrections or added details from Mrs S. This is a précis:

‘We were walking up the Red Path at about midnight. When we got near the top, we paused for a breather, leaning on the railings. Just there, to the left, there is another set of very steep steps which you can take as a short cut. But they’re very overgrown and can be slippery, so I wasn’t being serious when I suggested we take them. But because I did so, [Mrs S] looked up in that direction. [Mrs S] said: “What’s that looking at us?”

‘I looked up and there it was, standing on the bank. It was cow-like, standing on its hind legs and at least 6ft tall. It was a light brown colour and smooth haired. There were two little bumps where you might expect horns. We could see it clearly because it was illuminated by the moon and the streetlights. It just stood there, frowning down at us with its eyes wrinkled up. Its hooves were sort of dangling down in front of it. We ran up the Red Path but then realised it could easily cut us off at the top. When we got there, though, it had vanished.’

Mrs S continued: ‘I realised I had dropped my scarf on the path, so I had to go back for it. I was so frightened. The thing didn’t appear again but I didn’t dare use that path for a whole month.’

That was the end of their adventure. There’s no doubt in my mind that the two children referred to above saw the same thing, possibly in the same year (although admittedly there was no ‘smoke’ emerging from nostrils on this occasion). Mrs J and Mrs S are convinced it wasn’t somebody in a costume: ‘It was too realistic. The proportions were all wrong and the legs were too thin.’

It may have been some sort of dummy but someone must have been waiting in the bushes on that cold night to have removed it so quickly. On the same evening that I met Mrs J and Mrs S, however, I also met a Mr J (no relation), who had another strange experience in Brymbo more than a decade earlier. His sighting bears similarities to The Beast of Brymbo and I shall recount it in my next article.

[SOURCE: Personal communication with the author, 1988 and 2004]"
copyright 2008 Richard Holland

*click below for*
A Walk Around Brymbo - with links to photos of the town and its surroundings!

~to be continued~

Old House Woods -- Part III

Stories from Old House Woods, Part III

The community surrounding the Old House Woods in Mathews County, Virginia is rife with tales of mysterious appearances and disappearances which have never been satisfactorily explained. These stories involve both humans and animals. Our friend Harry Forrest spoke passionately about this in 1951:

"It was near 100 years ago that Lock Owens and Pidge Morgan came through these woods with their steer, on the way back from a cattle auction, and nothing's been seen of 'em since. Steer, carts, and everything disappeared in there. Lock had a little black dog and the only thing that was ever found of it was a little bunch of hair off of that dog's tail.

There used to be a lot of cattle down on these points, but they got to wandering in here and never came out. Everything that comes in here heads for the Old Cow Hole and disappears. It's very strange. One night that Old Cow Hole will be covered with water, the next it's dry. Some night it'll be light enough to pick up a pin in these woods, and black and storming outside. And sometimes, you'll come in here and it'll be pouring down. You get wringing, soaking wet, you can wipe the water off you. And then you come out and you'll be perfectly dry."

Perhaps the story of Owens and Morgan explains why there have been numerous reports of headless cattle wandering around in the woods.

Harry Forrest once took a newspaperman to see Old Cow Hole. The reporter described it as a small circular pool of gray water, which seemed to swirl, yet was dead still. Forrest believed that Old Cow Hole is where the legendary money was buried by one or all of the groups mentioned in the earlier sections of this story. He also believed that someone was killed and buried along with the treasure, to 'guard' it.

Speaking of headless animals, another well-known tale from Old House Woods concerns a farmer's wife who lived adjacent to the woods. One evening at dusk she went into a pasture to bring home the work horses. After driving them down the lane to the gate, she called to her husband to open it. He didn't answer right away, so she did it herself. As she did, her husband came out of the barn and laughed at her, saying he had put the team in the barn two hours earlier. "Don't be foolish!" she said, and when she turned to lead the team through the gate, instead of the two horses she saw two headless black dogs running back toward the Old House Woods. "That woman was my great grandmother," says Olivia Davis today. More recent reports claim that these headless dogs like to pursue moving vehicles passing through the woods, and have even been known to try to jump onto cars or into the beds of pickup trucks.

A tragic tale is told of a local fisherman named Tom Pipkin who lived nearby around 1880. Excited by the rumors of buried or sunken treasure, he took his small boat into the woods, following an old channel thought to be cut by pirates two hundred years earlier, heading for Old Cow Hole. Several days later his boat was found in the Bay. Inside were two gold coins of unknown age and a battered silver cup covered with slime and mud. One coin bore a Roman head, and the letters 'I V V S' were distinguishable. No one would claim Pipkin's boat and it was left on nearby Gwynn's Island where it rotted away. Tom Pipkin was never seen or heard from again.

"A thousand people have been in here after that money, but they'll never get it," said Harry Forrest. "The trees start bending double and howling. It storms. And they get scared and take off. The woods is haunted....that's what it is."

Maybe so. But one thing is for sure. Any being who ventures into Old House Woods, by land or by water, whether they be human or animal, may very well be disappearing into another time. They will probably return, with or without a story to tell. But there may be a small chance that they will become stuck in its strange alternate dimension and take their place among the ranks of the long dead, but not forgotten, denizens of Old House Woods.

"There's everything in there." - Harry Forrest

The stories of Old House Woods have been brought to you with the assistance of L.B. Taylor's delightful publication, The Ghosts of Virginia, Volume I (of many!)

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(the sound of wind blowing constantly, through pine trees and marsh grass)

Old House Woods -- Part II

Did I forget to mention the headless black dogs?
Yes...but first, an example of the many accounts of skeletal 17th century soldiers in plate armor...


Jesse Hudgins, described as a respectable merchant of unquestioned integrity, told the following story to a Baltimore Sun reporter in 1926 (and to anyone else who would listen), and he swore to its authenticity.

"I do not care whether I am believed or not," he often said. "I am not apologetic nor ashamed to say I have seen ghosts (in Old House Woods.) I have seen ghosts not once, but a dozen times. I was 17 when I first actually saw a ghost, or spirit. One October night I sat by the lamp reading. A neighbor whose child was very ill came asking me to drive to Mathews for the doctor. We had no telephone in those days. I hitched up and started for town. The night was gusty, clouds drifting now and then over the moon, but I could see perfectly, and whistled as I drove along.

"Nearing Old House itself, I saw a light about 50 yards ahead moving along the road in the direction I was going. My horse, usually afraid of nothing, cowered and trembled violently. I felt rather uneasy myself. I have seen lights on the road at night, shining lanterns carried by men, but this light was different. There was something unearthly about it. The rays seemed to come from nowhere, and yet they moved with the bearer.

"I gained on the traveler, and as I stand here before you, what I saw was a big man wearing a suit of armor. Over his shoulder was a gun, the muzzle end of which looked like a fish horn. As he strode, or floated along, he made no noise. My horse stopped still, I was weak with terror and horror. I wasn't 20 feet from the thing, whatever it was, when it, too, stopped and faced me.

"At the same time, the woods about 100 feet from the wayfarer became alive with lights and moving forms. Some carried guns like the one borne by the man or thing in the road, others carried shovels of an outlandish type, while still others dug furiously near a dead pine tree.

"As my gaze returned to the first shadowy figure, what I saw was not a man in armor, but a skeleton, and every bone of it was visible through the iron of the armor, as though it were made of glass. The skull which seemed to be illuminated from within, grinned at me horribly. Then, raising aloft a sword, which I had not hitherto noticed, the awful specter started towards me menacingly.

"I could stand no more. Reason left me. When I came to, it was broad daylight and I lay upon my bed at home. Members of my family said the horse had run away. They found me at the turn of the road beyond Old House Woods. They thought I had fallen asleep. The best proof that this was not so was we could not even lead Tom (the horse) by the Old House Woods for months afterwards, and to the day he died, whenever he approached the woods, he would tremble violently and cower. It was pitiful to see that fine animal become such a victim of terror."

Some years later, another newspaper reported the account of a youth from Richmond. He experienced car trouble on the road near Old House Woods late one night. As he knelt beside his tire in the road, a voice behind him asked, "Is this the King's Highway? I've lost my ship." ( !!!! that part totally freaks me out for some reason !!! ) When the young man turned around, he beheld a skeleton in armor just a few paces away. Screaming like a maniac, he ran from the scene, not returning for his car until the next day.

----to be continued----


Old House Woods
Tidewater Virginia

Old House Woods -- Part I

~The following group of posts is plagiarized from one of my other blogs, and was first related by me last year at this time~

Old House Woods -- Part I

Old House Woods might very well be the most haunted location in Virginia. Located in Mathews County, on the shore of the Bay at the end of the Middle Peninsula, Old House Woods is the subject of almost three centuries worth of oral history tales, containing psychic phenomena so bizarre that it's hard to believe they are entirely invented.

There are a few possible explanations for the concentrated activity in this remote location. Local lore states that the crew of a pirate ship came ashore here in the 17th century, buried their loot, and returned to sea where they all died in a storm. This would explain the strange figures seen digging furiously in the woods by the light of tin lanterns. Another theory is that Edward Teach, better known as Blackbeard, intercepted this group of men as they were hiding their treasure and murdered them all.

It's also possible that the treasure here belonged to Charles II of England, who following his defeat at Worcester in 1651 considered coming to Virginia. In preparation, a group of his followers loaded a ship with several chests of money, plate, and jewels, and the ship set sail for Jamestown. It never arrived. For reasons unknown, the ship sailed further up the Chesapeake Bay and anchored at the mouth of White's Creek near the Old House Woods. The treasure was offloaded, but before it could be hidden, the Royalists were set upon by a gang of escaped indentured servants. All of the Royalists were murdered and the bondsmen escaped by boat with part of the money, planning to return later for the rest. They weren't that lucky. Their ship, too, was caught in a storm, capsized, and everyone on board was drowned.

The third possible reason for the hauntings dates to 1781, when a small group of British soldiers were sent with a large amount of money and treasure to safeguard it prior to the battle at Yorktown. They headed north through enemy lines, hoping to find a british ship anchored in the Bay. They did manage to hide the treasure in the Old House Woods before they were found and killed by a unit of American cavalry.

Perfectly credible citizens over the years have reported seeing not only the lamplit diggers, but completely freaky sights including full-rigged ships floating above the woods or in the marsh at the mouth of White's Creek, luminescent skeletons in translucent plate armor carrying lanterns and strange primitive firearms, and horses and cows which appear and disappear into thin air before their eyes.

A local fisherman and farmer, Harry Forrest described several personal experiences before he passed away in the 1950s. "Once I went out on a brilliant November night to shoot black ducks," he reported, "I found a flock asleep in a little inlet where the pine trees came down to the edge of the water. As I raised my gun to fire, instead of them being ducks, I saw that they were soldiers of the olden time. Headed by an officer, a company of them formed and marched out of the water." Recovering from his shock, he hurried to his skiff tied on the other side of the point, only to find a man in a red uniform sitting in the stern. Frightened but angry, Forrest ordered him out of the skiff and threatened to shoot. The soldier replied "Shoot and the devil's curse to you and your traitor's breed," beginning to draw his sword. "Then I threw my gun on him," says Forrest,"and pulled. It didn't go off. I pulled the trigger again. No better result. I dropped the gun and ran for home, and I'm not ashamed to say I swam the creek in doing it, too."

A Ghost Story -- Fox's Gap, South Mountain, Maryland

This is a mirror on a tree at Fox's Gap, directly across the road from where Wise's cabin once stood. It is on the stretch of road here reflected in the mirror that Daniel would have seen the ghostly soldier approaching.

Late in the summer of 1862, more than a year after the start of the Civil War, Army of Northern Virginia General Robert E. Lee decided that it was time to carry the war into the North. Sentiment toward the war in the border state of Maryland was diminishing, and the Federal Army had just suffered a surprising defeat in Manassas. Furthermore, Lee was desperate to feed and supply his impoverished army. It was nearing harvest time in Maryland when Lee's army made its first of two forays into the North, crossing the Potomac into the Blue Ridge foothills of Maryland.

The Battle of South Mountain was not a huge battle, and was quickly overshadowed a few days later by the nearby Battle of Antietam, which resulted in the loss of 23,000 men in just one day. Still, a total of more than 5,000 men were either killed, wounded, or missing in action at the end of the day on September 14. Lee's army was positioned to the west of South Mountain, and General George McClellan's Army of the Potomac needed to cross South Mountain to pursue them and drive them back to Virginia. This battle was fought over control of three gaps in the mountain through which the Union Army needed to pass: Turner's Gap, Fox's Gap, and Crampton's Gap (from north to south.)

At the crest of the mountain on the road through Fox's Gap was the farm of Daniel Wise. A widower with two children, he awoke to find his farm overrun by frantic North Carolina soldiers on the morning of September 14 as they transformed it into a fortress to withstand the Union Army, quickly approaching from the east. Wise was advised to gather what he could and leave as quickly as possible, which he did, just as the battle began behind him.

This is a gap in the foliage along the stone wall behind which the North Carolina troops waited for the Union brigades to approach across the field ahead.

Within about two hours, the Union Army had gained possession of the Gap. Hundreds of dead and dying men, including one General from each side, were strewn over the fields of the Wise Farm, right up to the walls of the cabin. Although victorious and exhausted, the soldiers still had hard work ahead of them. They would have to bury the dead. They buried their own first, in the already-worked soil of Wise's fields. It was more difficult to figure out what to do with the Confederate dead. The ground at Fox's Gap was full of rocks and boulders, and digging into it was backbreaking work. Finally, exhausted, the burial crew dumped the last 58 dead Confederates into Daniel Wise's well, in the front yard of his cabin. They moved on.

On September 18, Daniel Wise and his son and daughter returned to the farm. Their harvest was destroyed, the fields full of fresh burial mounds, while other dead were buried in shallow trenches right against the cabin walls. The smell of decay was everywhere. Worst of all was the well, now ruined by its horrible contents.

A few days after his return, Daniel Wise was sitting on his front porch at the end of the day. He saw a solitary young man coming up the road from the west. Watching the young man approach, he felt a cold chill creep up his back. For some reason, the sight filled him with an odd feeling of dread. As the young man drew closer, Wise noticed how deathly pale his skin was....and the blank expression on his face. Finally the young man stepped into Wise's yard. It was at this point that Wise realized he could see right through the young man's body to the road and the trees behind him. When he asked the young man who he was, he was met with silence. Not even a bird was heard on the ridge at Fox's Gap in those long moments. Finally: "Our lives were stripped from us and we were not even given a proper burial. Be sure that I will return here every night until we are honored as fallen soldiers." The apparition then slowly turned to look at Daniel's well. Daniel's eyes followed his gaze, and when he looked back, the young man was gone. In a panic, he ran toward the well, inexplicably hoping to find the dead Confederate, to tell him that he was not the one responsible for his improper burial. Lifting the cover from the well, the stench literally knocked him over backwards. After struggling to his feet and hastily replacing the cover, he staggered inside the cabin and slammed the door, shaking like a leaf. As he had leaned over the well for that brief moment, he thought he heard voices coming from the depths.

This is the path along the stone wall just across the road from where the Wise cabin stood.

Maybe it was the stress of being caught in a battle zone, or anxiety over the fate of his farm and harvest. Maybe it was the panic over how his family would survive the winter that was creating strange effects in the farmer's mind. Maybe he was beginning to lose his mind. There was little time to wonder. He began to dread the evenings, and found it difficult to sleep. Still, every day was full of the customary work of a farmer. And yet finally, as the sun began to sink and it was time to relax on the porch with a pipe, the ghost of the young man continued to return. Daniel began to avoid the porch in the evenings, but found that even inside the house he thought he could feel the soldier's presence as he gazed over the fence into the yard, at the house, and at the old well.

This is Fox's Gap on a winter evening near sunset. This clearing, now a parking area, is where the Wise cabin once stood. The road is to the right. We are facing west, the direction from which the dead young man approached.

Daniel began writing letters to Washington, complaining bitterly about the mess the Union Army had left of his farm, and about the corpses resting at the bottom of his well. He continued his correspondence for years, although he never got a response from the government. He didn't mention the ghost in his letters, but the tale of the dead young man's ghost had begun to travel through the county. Other people started keeping an eye out for the dead soldier along the road at sunset, and some claimed to have seen him. This continued even after the war was over. Finally. In 1874, 12 years after the battle, the US military sent in an army detail to clean up Daniel Wise's farm. The remains in the well were removed, and the men buried elsewhere on his property were taken away for proper burial. Daniel never saw the apparition of the dead soldier again.

Daniel Wise was allowed to live out the rest of his life knowing that he had finally managed to see the right thing done for the soldiers that had been buried on his farm. After his death, the tale of the soldier's ghost became local legend. Although the cabin is no longer there, the fields are abandoned, and the well is long since filled in, the story of the casualties at Fox's Gap and their unorthodox burial remains one of the more gruesome footnotes of the Civil War.

The battlefields of South Mountain are now preserved within South Mountain State Park, Gathland State Park, and the Appalacian National Scenic Trail (which runs through all 3 gaps.)

http://www.friendsofsouthmountain.org/index.html



Self portrait at Fox's Gap. If you look in the mirror, I am standing on the edge of the clearing where the cabin once stood.

Although I have known the history of Fox's Gap for some time, and have visited several times, I did not know about this ghost story at the time...so, visits should be even more interesting in the future :)

~All photos above taken by Me~ .......except the one below. I was not able to find out the date of this photo, or the name of the photographer.

...Wise Farm at Fox's Gap...

Whitemarsh Cemetery -- Trappe, Maryland -- 10/10/10

On Sunday, I visited Whitemarsh Cemetery, which for any Maryland resident raised on the western shore who spent summer vacations on the Maryland shore is an instantly recognizable landmark. After 42 years of looking at the striking ruins while quickly passing on the nearby busy highway, I finally sampled the tranquility of this beautiful spot....and in spite of the nearby traffic, it does remain strangely quiet and peaceful, almost another place in time. There is an amazing legend associated with this cemetery which sounds like something out of Poe....except that it is supposed to be true, and at least we know that the characters in the story were real, lived nearby, and are buried in this very cemetery. I was going to tell the story myself, but the following article combines the many different versions of the story told over the years with correspondence and family testimony. We may never know for sure which parts of the tale are true and which are not. This article appeared in the Tidewater Times in July 2007. I hope its author would not object to my sharing it here. All photos were taken by me on my 10/10/10 visit.

Tales of Old White Marsh
Did Hannah Maynadier Rise From Her Grave?

by

James Dawson

Probably the best known Talbot County ghost story is supposed to have taken place at old White Marsh church, which dates from the mid-1600s. It burned in 1897 and the ruins and cemetery can still be seen just off Rt. 50 a few miles south of Easton.
Rev. Maynadier was rector at White Marsh from 1711 to 1745. It was said that he was “a good liver but a horrid preacher,” but he is only remembered now because of the story that his wife Hannah was roused from her grave by robbers attempting to steal her ring. This brought her out of a trance, the robbers fled and she walked home to greet her grieving spouse at the door.
The legend of Hannah Maynadier first appeared in print in 1898 in a book about Talbot County entitled Land of Legendary Lore by Prentiss Ingraham in the chapter “Weird Tales That Are Told” and is given in full here:

The story is that the rector’s wife died, and that her last wish was that she should be buried with a valuable family ring upon her finger, for it was customary in those days to bury a body without removing jewelry they had worn most in life.
Two strangers who had attended the funeral and observed this valuable ring and determined to secure it that night, so they went to the old church yard, for it was over half a century old, and digging into the grave, removed the coffin, broke it open and attempted to take the ring off the woman’s finger. It would not come off, and so a knife was used to sever the joint, and this revived the woman, who, not being dead, suddenly uttered a cry and sat up in her coffin. Tradition does not say what became of the two grave ghouls, but it is to be hoped that the fright they received turned them from their evil ways.
As for Mrs. Maynadier, she realized her situation, and though alarmed and ill, she was possessed of great nerve, so drew her shroud about her form and started upon her homeward way. What must have been her feelings, as she trudged through the night to the home she had been taken from in her coffin a few hours before! And what would have been the feelings of a benighted being who had met her on that lone highway? Verily he could have taken oath with truth to having seen one from the grave. In the rectory the old clergyman was seated before his hearth alone, doubtless recalling the wife he had won in the long ago, far across the sea, and whom he had just buried in her adopted land. Sad must have been his memories, deep must have been his sorrow, as he sat there looking into the past and thinking of the loved one in the White Marsh burying-ground.
Suddenly he was started by a fall against the door, followed by a low moan. A fearless man, he sprung to the door and beheld the fainting, shrouded form of his wife. The sight nerved him into action and drove away fear. He raised her into his arms, bore her to her bed, gave her stimulants, chafed her hands, one still bleeding from the cruel cut of the ghoul, and soon restored her to consciousness. Then he called his servants, told them the weird story and sent to Oxford for a physician.
Such is the story, and more, Mrs. Maynadier recovered from her illness and lived for many years. She and her brave old husband now lie side by side in the old White Marsh churchyard. It is alleged that the blood stain from Mrs. Maynadier’s hand still remains upon the door against which she fell.” [Ingraham, Land of Legendary Lore: Gazette Publishing House, Easton, 1898, pps. 85-6].

Ingraham claimed that this really happened and that he had heard the story from the Jenkins family of Easton who were descendants of Mrs. Maynadier, “the heroine of this true story.”
The story took wings and appeared a number of times in books, pamphlets and newspaper articles through the years and with each resurrection became more elaborate. It was said that the blood stain could still be seen at the rectory and no amount of scrubbing would remove it.
Someone even claimed to own the very chair in which Rev. Maynadier was sitting when his exhumed wife came calling:

CHAIR SAID TO BE 200 YEARS OLD

This well-preserved arm chair, now in the possession of Courtney Valliant at Hambleton, is said to be over 200 years old and used originally in the old White Marsh Church. Mr. Valliant said the chair was given to his father by a wealthy Baltimore physician who had purchased the old rectory and farm many years ago.
It is reputed to be the chair in which the late Rev. Daniel Maynadier, Huguenot rector of White Marsh during the time of Loius XIV, was found dead in 1745...
It was Mrs. Maynadier who, according to legend, had presumably died and was buried at White Marsh. When robbers attempted to take a ring from her finger she awoke, and made her way back to the rectory. Her husband was said to have been seated in this so-called “death” chair when she returned and some writers have called the chair the “missing link” in the Maynadier legend. [Star Democrat, Oct. 5, 1962]

In this version, it was Rev. Maynadier who died, presumably scared to death by his wife’s unexpected reappearance. One hopes that the “death chair” didn’t claim any more victims. But fortunately, the photo that accompanied the article showed that it was in the Eastlake style and dated from about 1880, not 1745, and was too new to have been that chair (it was too post era for Maynadier’s posterior).

Historian and folklorist Brice Stump told the most elaborate version in “The Lingering Legend of White Marsh Church – Did the Pastor’s Wife Return From Her Grave?” which is excerpted here:

The men worked quietly. Soon the shovel scraped against the wooden coffin.
Having uncovered the burial vault, they labored to remove the cover. Even though the night was cool, drops of sweat formed on their faces and backs. Fear gnawed at them.
With increased efforts the men pried at the lid, until the wooden top yielded. They moved the light into the gaping hole. The body of the woman had not been too greatly bothered by the moving of the coffin. The wind blew into the hole, and the dirt fell into the vault. The white shawl about the woman’s head moved from side to side as the breeze touched her body.
The light was brought closer. The diamond ring sparkled. One of the men gripped the ring and attempted to pull it from the finger. The ring slipped down and stopped at the swollen joint. The man reached for his knife to cut off the finger..” [Star Democrat, August 14, 1968].

But did it really happen? Even Hannah’s descendants couldn’t agree. Stump added that “Mrs. Charles Henderson of Lloyds Landing states that she is a descendant of Mrs. Maynadier and that her mother had not heard of the tale until she was educated in Talbot County schools. Commenting on the tale, she noted, ‘It is possible, but I doubt it.’ She had read similar accounts happening to others but believes the story of Mrs. Maynadier climbing from the grave and walking home is questionable.” [Star Democrat, August 14, 1968].

However, the next week another descendant, Charles Arensberg of Trappe, stated the contrary:

“My mother, Emily Wright Maynadier Arensberg, was a direct descendant of Daniel Maynadier. Unlike Mrs. Charles Henderson of Lloyds Landing, we sons heard the story of Hannah Maynadier and the grave diggers as small boys in Pittsburgh. Mother used to tell it to us as family history long before we ever came to Talbot County.
“So the story, far from appearing first to us in Talbot County school books, came direct from the lips of a great-great-grandchild of Daniel, having survived the family move from Maryland to Massachusetts after the Civil War and a further transplant to Pittsburgh.
“Mother never questioned for a moment the story. Nor did Dr. Gustavus Howard Maynadier, professor of English at Harvard, who was the family historian and who together with mother installed the bronze marker in the ruins over Daniel’s grave and that of his wife, Hannah.
“We always heard that Hannah, after the ordeal, actually survived her husband, but that fact always escaped the record.
“We also heard that Hannah was buried inside the church in a crypt ABOVE ground, a circumstance which would make it easier for the ghouls to perpetuate their evil deed....” [Star Democrat, August 21, 1968].

Or did it? The “plot” thickened. Fast forward two weeks:

Dear Sir:
With reference to your recent article about White Marsh Church, it is high time that Mrs. Maynadier’s ghost was laid to rest.
As a direct descendant of the Maynadiers, I feel it is safe to say that there is no truth to the tale that she was buried and then came to life again. None of the older members of the family have ever confirmed the story as a family legend.
The tale appears to have originated as pure fantasy in Ingraham’s “Land of Legendary Lore” and has subsequently appeared in other works, notably Shannahan’s “Tales of Old Maryland,” and Lee’s “Virginia Ghosts and Others”...
Yours Truly,
P. Kennard Wright
Easton
[Star Democrat, Sept. 4, 1968]



As historian Dickson J. Preston pointed out, not only did Hannah survive her husband, but the records of old White Marsh do not show that she died once, let alone twice. This would seem to be the stake in the heart of the legend of Hannah rising.
But it wasn’t until the early 20th century that legend became reality when grave robbers did hit the Maynadier grave:

GHOULS DESECRATE ANCIENT GRAVES AT WHITE MARSH: Vandals Exhume The Remains From Vault In Which The Rev. Daniel Maynadier Was Supposed to Have Been Buried

For at least the second time in the history of the ancient burial ground in which sleep some of the noblest of Maryland’s early settlers, ghouls within the past two weeks desecrated a grave at White Marsh Church by exhuming the remains of one who is believed by Col. Oswald Tilghman to have been the Rev. Daniel Maynadier, an early rector who lived about the time the Protestant Episcopal Church became the established denomination in Maryland. The sole motive for this act of vandalism seems to have been the procuring of any valuables buried with the deceased.
Colonel Tilghman, in an investigation of the case for his own satisfaction as Talbot’s foremost historian, says that he knows the grave in question was untouched two weeks ago. A few days ago Leeds Kerr, a guest of Colonel Tilghman and one of the noted Kerr family of Talbot, visited White Marsh and found the earth had been removed to a depth of five or six feet, laying bare the brick vault in which the coffin had rested. The remains had been removed...” [Easton Star Democrat, Dec. 4, 1915].

Did someone finally get that ring? No one knows. This incredible story was forgotten and appears in print here for the first time since 1915.
The empty vault gaped open for years until someone finally filled in the grave and laid a brick floor over it. The bronze plaque reads:

DANIEL MAYNADIER
HUGUENOT
16 -1745
RECTOR OF ST. PETER’S CHURCH
1711-1745
AND HIS WIFE
HANNAH MARTIN

But they weren’t there anymore.
And some of the genealogical information is in doubt, too. Hannah’s maiden name has been also given as Parrott, while an Internet site says it was Haskins. We only know that there was a Hannah who was born, married Rev. Maynadier, had children and then presumably died. But no one knows exactly where or when. Anything else is a question mark.
It is important to remember that no one has ever found proof that the Hannah Maynadier story predates Ingraham’s 1898 telling. He was also the prolific author of such dime classics as Satan’s Slave and Darky Dan and so probably wouldn’t have let any stray facts (like, oh, I don’t know, that it never happened) get in the way of his telling a good story. And if he did transplant the tale from somewhere else to Talbot County soil, the seed certainly took root and flourished. All the later versions seem to be based on Ingraham, but the bare bones of the tale were old when he told it.
The woman buried with a ring story is firmly rooted in folklore and probably dates back to Shakespeare’s day, if not before. Mark Twain called it a negro ghost story and told in a dialect variation of it on stage with great effect and even wrote a story about it. In these versions, she is definitely dead and most determined to get her ring back.
This is a tale best told late at night around a campfire. The version I tried goes like this:
A man dwelt by a churchyard and observed the funeral of a wealthy lady he knew. He decided to dig her up that night to steal the valuable ring she always wore. And so he did. As he gloated over his prize upstairs in the privacy of his bedroom, he looked out the window and to his horror saw the dead woman crawl out of her grave and stagger toward his house. Then he heard scratching and the front door scrape open. A voice from the grave called out, “Who’s got my golden ring?”
The man is terrified, but has no place to run. Maybe she will go away, but no, he heard her ascend the stairs step by step croaking, “Who’s got my golden ring? Who’s got my golden ring?”
Trapped, he collapsed in bed and hid under the covers. Next he heard his bedroom door squeak open and the ghastly moan was right there in his room, “Who’s got my golden ring?”
The floor boards creaked as she came closer and closer to his bed until, to his horror, he heard the cold, dead voice slowly and deliberately whisper in his ear, “Whooooo’s got my gooooooolden ring?”
Now, pause for an instant, then grab your listener by the arm and shout, “You’ve Got It!!!”
Don’t try this on anyone with a weak heart. It really works. But if something untimely should happen, be assured, there are burial plots still available in White Marsh cemetery.